<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Mining Resilience by The_Readers_Muse</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542866">Mining Resilience</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse'>The_Readers_Muse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daybreakers (2009)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Depression, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Hatred, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:07:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never hated himself more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edward Dalton &amp; Audrey Bennett, Edward Dalton/Audrey Bennett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don't own "Daybreakers" 2007 or any of it's characters, wishful thinking aside.</p><p>Authors Note #1: This movie isn't appreciated near enough tbh. I wanted to write something that dealt with Ed's thoughts in the car before he accepts the cup of blood from Audrey and what could have happened at the winery behind the scenes.</p><p>Warnings: vampirism, angst, drama, romance, angst, emotional constipation, depression, self-hatred, mild sexual content, blood, blood drinking.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Every couple of weeks we head out to search for others. It's getting harder and harder to find anybody. I only managed to pick up three when you drove us off the road..."</p><p>He didn't mean to look.</p><p>He didn't.</p><p>
  <em>He didn't.</em>
</p><p>But he hadn't been this close to a human in years.</p><p>Not since he turned.</p><p>And <em>Christ-</em></p><p>He hadn't understood until now.</p><p>He hadn't understood how fucking beautiful the tense of a living vein was.</p><p>He could hear it - <em>her</em> - her blood.</p><p>Hyper-focusing until he was breathless as he watched her carotid delineate down the arc of her throat.</p><p>Breathing in the scent of her.</p><p>How she-</p><p>"Stop the car... <em>Stop the car</em>."</p><p>He knew he'd been caught before the words aired out.</p><p>He looked away. Avoiding her. Humiliated.</p><p>If he'd been human, his face would have been red.</p><p>
  <em>But that was the problem, wasn't it?</em>
</p><p>"When was the last time you drank human blood?"</p><p>He blinked, forced to meet her eyes. Caught in a weird headspace where half of him was mired in a cold sweat, and the other was barely holding on to gravity. Feeling hazy. Half delirious. Like any minute he could be outside his own body as the raw pang of hunger that had been a constant companion for years betrayed him by threatening to curl his lip. Instinct demanding that he-</p><p>"What's the matter?" he stuttered, shoving it down. "I'm fine."</p><p>He wasn't fine. But it was worse than that. For some reason he was panicking before she brought out the knife. Before determination settled into action. Fear washed through him. Because he could see where this was going and he didn't want- he didn't trust himself. <em>He couldn't</em>. He didn't touch human blood. He-</p><p>"Oh, you don't..."</p><p>Saliva flooded over his tongue as the scent of her blood exploded into the stuffy car. Stopping him cold. Sweet and spiced and freely given. Without the taint of fear and despair that came with the shit Bromley forced on him in the office. This was-</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>"We need you focused," she told him firmly as red drizzled into the cup. Squeezing her hand until the blood started trickling between her tightly cupped fingers. Teasing him with the idea that even a single drop might go to waste.</p><p>"No! No, I'm not-" he insisted. Pathetically grateful that part of him still meant it. He could taste her sweetness on the air and he was still trying to find a way out. Sticking to his principles, or maybe just his self-imposed punishment, as the bold tones nearly had him drooling.</p><p>"She ain't asking, Doc," Elvis retorted gently.</p><p>He wanted to sink into the too-big cut of his suit.</p><p>To escape this. All of it.</p><p>He wanted to snatch the cup and drink until the animal in his gut finally went quiet.</p><p>He wanted to have her.</p><p>He wanted to have him.</p><p>He wanted one of those crossbow bolts right between the fucking eyes.</p><p>He wanted-</p><p>His eyes darted from the cup, to her, to Elvis, then back again. Feeling trapped as his fingers itched to take it. Hating himself for the rattling, possessive purr that threatened to roll up from his throat. Secondary instincts flaring.</p><p>"Where we're going, I can't afford to worry about you, around the others," she told him, holding out the cup with a hand that didn't shake. Looking at him with eyes that were softer than her expression.</p><p>
  <em>Christ.</em>
</p><p>He shook his head, but she didn't waver. Wondering what she was thinking when he finally took the cup from her. Trembling. Excited. Disgusted. Needy. Grateful. He glanced at her as she wrapped her hand, watching him as he raised the cup to his lips and-</p><p>He hadn't seen his reflection in a decade. But for the first time in just as long, he was glad he couldn't see the expression on his face as he swallowed.</p><p>The tug of tortured pleasure against the high of his cheekbones was enough.</p>
<hr/><p>He'd never hated himself more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"We've tested burning extracted blood under UV light, and it always remains infected. How could yours possibly be human?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You tell me, Doc."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What did it feel like? When the sun hit your body?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What do you mean what did it feel like? I felt like a goddamn piece of fried chicken."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Can you remember anything specific about it, anything at all?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Well, I remember when the sunlight hit me, it was like a bolt of lightning... kick-starting my heart. ...It was like someone let the air back in the room."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Maybe the only way to treat the blood is inside the body. We need to control a daylight burn."</em>
</p><hr/><p>The question was how.</p><p>He tested more of Elvis' blood in the following days. Trying to find the missing piece. <em>The sun? How could it be the sun? </em>Oh, he could see why it would be. It made sense, even from a scientific standpoint, that the thing that could hurt could heal. <em>But it was one hell of an irony, wasn't it? </em>The sun was a tempting horror story. Something he flirted with when he was feeling especially suicidal. Instinct told him to hunker down and sleep come sun-up. It was why everyone's schedules flipped to nights when people turned. Even the subwalks were quiet during the day. The pull to be inside – in their own territory – was strong.</p><p>He hated the sun.</p><p>
  <em>He missed the sun.</em>
</p><p>He chain-smoked the last of his cigarettes, doing his best to be invisible. Wary of the light that threatened to seep through the slat blinds behind him as he worked with the ancient microscope and dusty slides.</p><p>But for the life of him, he couldn't focus.</p><p>No surprise why, really.</p><p>His life was in shambles. The world was worse. Everything seemed to be happening at once. He didn't know if Frankie was alive or if Mark was going to get anywhere on the blood substitute. He was surrounded by humans - their rage and fear. Hyper-aware of the muted squall of crying babies. The discrete scent of couples fucking. He was hip-deep in research for a cure. He had no god damned idea how he was going to control a daylight burn and survive, and-</p><p>But in reality, that was just background noise.</p><p>All he could think about was the iron tang of her blood.</p><p>
  <em>'I don't touch human blood.'</em>
</p><p>He swiped his hands down his face. Pressing hard against his eyelids until they sparked. That night with Frankie felt like decades ago. Like a lie he'd told himself so many times it had come true. He'd believed it once. <em>Lived it.</em> But now he couldn't put it back. And the ugly, yawning spot it had lived after he'd turned was as dark as his thoughts in the early days. When he realized he was too much of a coward to just walk into the morning and end it.</p><p>His fangs ached.</p><p>Hands curling into claw-like fists on either side of the microscope.</p><p>
  <em>He was so hungry.</em>
</p><p>He didn't understand. It had never been like this. He'd always been good at going without. It had been the only thing that had been easy. The only thing he could control. Slowly starving himself had been a penance for what he was, and he'd been content with that.</p><p>Somewhere outside the office, a baby cried.</p><p>The underside of his skin itched.</p><p>"Ed?"</p><p>He watched her whenever she wasn't watching him. Rare stolen moments where he desperately tried to understand why. What was it about her? Her blood? Or did it have anything to do with her at all? Had he gotten to the point where-</p><p>"...Ed?"</p><p>The world around him grew hazy. Zoning out. Reminding him of the burn of whiskey on a human tongue and the lightness that came with being on the fine edge of buzzed. Allowing every obsessive thought to stretch as he fingered the fading, dimple scar where she'd shot him with the crossbow bolt.</p><p>"Shit! Ed!"</p><p>He jerked back into the moment with a sickening hiccup. Finding her so close, warm breath grazing his skin, that he flew off the stool. He blinked quickly, horrified to find that a red haze had fallen over his vision.</p><p>"What?!" he stammered, pushing his hair back from his face as he backed up a step. Then another. "Sorry, I was just-"</p><p>But she was having none of it.</p><p>"How long has it been?" she demanded, hands on her hips. Cheeks flushed with anger. Chest heaving. Pulse fast. <em>Delicious.</em></p><p>He recoiled, eyes darting down to her hip, only to immediately regret it.</p><p>There was no crossbow.</p><p>He closed his eyes, squeezing the lids till they hurt.</p><p>"The- the car," he rasped, swallowing hard. Wrenching himself over to the sink to splash water on his face. Needing the space. But she was right there behind him. Not afraid at all. Stupid and brave and lovely in all the ways he hadn't seen since the outbreak started.</p><p>"I mean <em>before</em>. When was the last time you had human blood?"</p><p>A beat passed.</p><p>Then another.</p><p>"Audrey..." he started, before hesitating. Realizing it was the first time he'd said her name. Tripping over it long enough for her to lean in and pinch the skin on his forearm, skating warmth over wet skin.</p><p>She sucked air between her teeth, suffocating it with an angry noise.</p><p>"Jesus, you're <em>starving</em>."</p><p>He blinked again, half of his current problem falling into place.</p><p>
  <em>Yes, he supposed he was.</em>
</p><p>But that didn't explain why it was <em>her</em> he was craving.</p><p>"Elvis was right. He said you were starting to get the same look he had before it happened. His shop was in the red, something about the Government stealing his patents, trying to screw him. He tried fighting them in court, but they drained him dry with legal fees. He didn't have the money for blood in the end."</p><p>He looked up at that, meeting her eyes. Not sure what to think as she turned towards the small fridge under the far desk. Sinking to an easy crouch as she dug past the bottled water and soda.</p><p>"I know things are rough out there, even for vampires. But I thought with Bromley, with you working on a substitute, they would have at least kept you-"</p><p>
  <em>'Fed?'</em>
</p><p>She trailed off before she could get there. But he was more surprised to find outrage in her tone. Outrage on <em>his</em> behalf. He shook his head. He didn't deserve it. The truth was, money and access had never been a problem. Bromley might have been a bastard, but he knew which side the bread was buttered. He made sure anyone in the labs who needed human blood, got it. Even when it was strictly rationed. It was how he kept them loyal. And for him, well, it would have been personally warmed and hand-delivered by one of Bromley's sycophant secretaries.</p><p>But he'd never asked.</p><p>He swallowed nervously, eyes on the layer of dust coating the window sill.</p><p>His fangs were sharp against his tongue.</p><p>A constant reminder.</p><p>He wanted to tell her. Tell her about all the times he'd refused that blood-laced coffee in Bromley's office. But it seemed disingenuous somehow. Like he was cheating when it was really just the truth. Part of him wanted her to see him in the worst possible light. He wanted her to run. To hate him. She <em>should</em> hate him. But here she was, looking at him like-</p><p>"How have you stayed in..." she hesitated, almost awed.</p><p>"Control?" he offered, tilting his head. It was a question that wasn't really a question. But he parroted it back anyway.</p><p>The silence was heavy. But not as heavy as it could have been. Feeling strangely centered now that she was close.</p><p>His tongue peeked out, tracing dry lips.</p><p>
  <em>Christ, he wished he had a cigarette.</em>
</p><p>"Practice," he admitted, squeezing his eyes closed when she pulled a small blood bag from the back of the freezer.</p><p>"…Practice?" she repeated, shaking her head like she couldn't believe it. Setting the blood on the counter and pulling a folding knife from her boot.</p><p>He sighed, feeling it like a bruise.</p><p>"I never- I never wanted this," he murmured, deflated. Gesturing like he was encompassing her, the people outside, what Frankie had done to him. All of it.</p><p>She didn't ask how it had happened.</p><p>If he'd asked for it.</p><p>If he'd been forced.</p><p>He knew she would at some point, but not now.</p><p>"I get that," she told him, reaching into a cupboard and taking out a dusty wine glass. Seeming to consider it before shaking her head. Bringing down a plain ceramic mug. "But you need it."</p><p>He shook his head as she slit the bag from corner to corner. Releasing the scent of red into the air. He swallowed thickly. It was tempting, but not as temping as it had been in the car.</p><p>"No," he said automatically. Feeling like a broken record as his hand stalled in front of him like it would ward her off somehow.</p><p>"There's no animal blood," she told him flatly, the mug firm in her hand. "But at this point it wouldn't help you, you know that."</p><p>He had survived on animal blood.</p><p>It tasted like shit and smelled worse.</p><p>But it had never been enough.</p><p>Not in the end.</p><p>He'd lied to himself.</p><p>Let Frankie bully him into it.</p><p>Let Bromley's lackies mix it into his drinks.</p><p>But at some point he'd stopped the phantom play.</p><p>She extended the mug toward him.</p><p>His right hand automatically twitched for it.</p><p>She didn't understand.</p><p>She didn't know the lid of Pandora's box was already loose.</p><p>She trusted him too much already.</p><p>He chewed on the inside of his lip. Wondering how he could even start to explain. How even now, when a cure had never been closer, he was still afraid. Afraid he'd like it. Afraid he'd gotten a taste for it. Afraid she would draw the animal out of him. Afraid that if he let himself have even an inch, it would all be over.</p><p>His resolve was the last thing he had left.</p><p>Red sloshed past the half-way point of the mug as he took it from her. He closed his eyes, scenting it quickly. Pulling a face. It wasn't hers. He hated it more because of it. He turned the mug slowly, watching the liquid heave. Thinking of that moment in the kitchen when the blood had poured thick over the ice in their cups. How quickly Frankie's anger had turned to rage when he started pouring it down the drain.</p><p>His eyes flicked up to find her watching him expectantly. <em>Christ.</em> He scented the blood again, slower this time. Relieved it didn't stink of fear. It had been freely given. Not like what came out of the blood-farms. Maybe it was meant for medical emergencies. Or even Senator Turner. Either way, he tipped it back. Too hungry to complain.</p><p>He caught the tones as he swallowed.</p><p>
  <em>Male. Just shy of his prime. Bourbon-soaked and smoky.</em>
</p><p>It grew on him surprisingly quickly.</p><p>He drained it, feeling the blood coat his insides in thick, pleasant warmth. Unable to help the growl when someone's shadow passed the window, startling him. Making her stiffen and lean back towards the freezer.</p><p>"You okay?" she asked.</p><p>He licked his lips, following the shadowed outline until it vanished.</p><p>"Yes... Yeah," he whispered, voice blood-rough. Unable to tell her it was because of her. That the shadow made him think someone was going pull her away. To divert her attention. Leaving him to wonder where the territorial urge came from as his tongue caught the last drops.</p><p>He looked up when her heartbeat increased.</p><p>Her expression was different, complicated, as she looked at him.</p><p><em>Why?</em><br/><br/>He inhaled her scent, eyes finding the wrapped cut on her palm.</p><p>His eyes narrowed into slits, basking in the near-pleasure of it.</p><p>
  <em>Christ, she smelled so-</em>
</p><p>"What's your blood type?" he asked, desperate to pin this on something scientific. Trying to distract himself. Maybe both.</p><p>"AB+," she said without a beat. Opening the fridge and digging deep into the very back. "Why?"</p><p>"I don't know," he answered honestly, burying his face in his hands. Dragging the skin down with his palms until the stretch finally registered. It was hard to feel anything since he'd turned. But with the shock of blood coursing through his system he felt almost alive.</p><p>She fixed him with a look over her shoulder.</p><p>He wondered if she believed him.</p><p>He wondered why he cared so much.</p><p>"Shit," she exhaled, knees popping as she straightened away from the fridge. "That's all we can spare."</p><p>He hadn't assumed there would be more, so he just looked back at the microscope. Palming the back of his neck. Knowing he had work to do.</p><p>"I'm fine," he told her. Almost feeling like it too.</p><p>He'd gone without for so long he felt-</p><p>"No you aren't," she retorted. Sounding fed up in a soft sort of way he wanted to tear apart with his eye-teeth.</p><p>Because she had that dangerous look in her eyes again.</p><p>The one that made him want to run.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He felt sick as she crossed the room and locked the door. Tugging the blinds fully closed.</p><p>"Audrey, <em>no</em>," he snapped, shooting to his feet to create distance he hadn't been able to force in the car. Angry and hungry. Terrified and tired. "I don't want it."</p><p><em>Liar</em>.</p><p>He couldn't look away as she unwrapped the tensor bandage. The one that had appeared around her palm not long after they'd arrived at the winery. His throat hitched at the flowing scent – tongue fat in his mouth. He couldn't fucking do this anymore.</p><p>"Come here," she told him, soft again. But like marble was. Silken to the touch, but hard as stone underneath. Decided.</p><p>He obeyed. But only because his feet weren't his own anymore.</p><p>"It's okay," she murmured as he approached, holding the knife to her skin. Ghosting the original wound. Refusing to back down as the knife angled against the scab and- "I want to."</p><p>"No... it isn't," he whispered, dizzy and loose as the smell of her blood exploded into the air. That was as far as self-recrimination went. He didn't have time to make it through whatever he'd been trying to say before every muscle suddenly pulled tight. "Audrey, I-"</p><p>His fangs dropped, lips parting without his permission as she hissed in pain. Not seeming to notice the middling purr that issued from deep in his throat as the blood started beading. Fangs glinting and sharp as he slowly rose to his feet.</p><p>All he could smell was her.</p><p>Her.</p><p>Her.</p><p>
  <em>Her.</em>
</p><p>He felt outside of himself as he stared at her boldly. There was something about the fullness of her blood – spreading like tendrils in his senses – that made the predator in him stir. But only gently. It didn't feel like a precursor to the attacks he'd seen on humans in the early days. This was different. It was everything he'd feared. A loss of control. But at the same time, he was sphinx-eyed, confedient and violently calm as she stared back. For the first time in years he didn't felt disgusted or guilty. He felt- <em>right</em>.</p><p>He ducked his head, rapt, when her fingers parted to show blood puddling in her palm. He rumbled again, unable to help it. Waiting hopelessly for her response. Preening and presenting in a way a human wouldn't understand.</p><p>But she wasn't afraid.</p><p>She should have been afraid.</p><p>But she wasn't.</p><p>The knife clattered across the counter as she reached for the mug. He scented the air, it was indulgent this time. Already knowing her like breathing, but still wanting more. He growled when she took a half-step away. <em>That</em> startled her. She fumbled with the handle, keeping her eyes on him as it dragged across the pitted butcher block that still reeked of wine and human sweat.</p><p>His lip curled at the echoes, lost.</p><p>He looked at the mug in distaste, canting his head.</p><p>
  <em>It wasn't right.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It wasn't how he wanted.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wanted-<br/></em>
</p><p>"Ed?"</p><p>Instinct was a polite animal as he stepped between her and the mug. Eyes fixed on where the blood was starting to weep between her fingers. He wavered there, saying nothing,. blood drunk, as she looked up at him with wide eyes.</p><p>"Like this," he whispered, reaching for her hand. Not sure where any of this was coming from when he'd <em>never</em>- not since that first time after the fever broke and Frankie had this woman - a girl really - shuddering on the floor in the living room. Coaxing him into it with childish churls his feverish mind had clung to as Frankie dropped her into his lap. She had been begging when the last of his blood surged and he-</p><p>He stopped short of snatching her hand. Still himself enough to insist that she give permission. That he wasn't just taking.</p><p>She hesitated, forcing him to meet her eyes before she nodded. Catching the his reflection in her eyes. Any other time it would have had him shrinking back. Frightened by tawny iris' that were so red they looked like they were on fire. But now? Now he just felt powerful.</p><p>"Like this..." he crooned again, clasping her hand carefully in his. Thumb rubbing the arch between the thumb and index finger as he hitched closer. Brushing her leg as she braced herself against the counter. "…Please."<br/>She jumped when he dragged his tongue down her knuckles. Following the trickling streams that branched off. Parted by light downy hairs and the occasional knick-like scar.</p><p>"No teeth," she warned. Voice shockingly steady for a heartbeat that was racing again. Tarting the blood with a slurry of excitement and- <em>oh</em>.</p><p>He nuzzled into the curl of her palm, drinking the blood that had welled up quickly. Aware on some level it was running down his chin and spattering on the floor. Desperate for more as he committed the taste of her – like this – to memory.</p><p><em>Pleasure</em>.</p><p>This was what pleasure tasted like.</p><p>It was intoxicating and all his.</p><p>He'd never tasted anything like it.</p><p>Not even his first blood all those years ago could compare.</p><p>He tightened his grip, coaxing more blood to the surface. Bring her hand close as she shuddered against him. Wavering more and more into each others space they could have been dancing. Making it easy to flatten his free hand around the small of her back, pushing them together until there was no more space. Just them. Just this. <em>Yes</em>.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he slurred, feeling like he owed her that much as his tongue laved between her fingers. "I'm so-"</p><p>She didn't recoil.</p><p>She should have.</p><p>It would have been better if she had.</p><p>It would have put him back in his place.</p><p>But she didn't.</p><p>Instead, her scent caramelized, sweetening like an invitation.</p><p>Leaving him drunk on the knowledge that she wanted this. <em>Wanted him.</em></p><p>
  <em>Christ.</em>
</p><p>He snarled, lips bloody as he pulled back and lifted her onto the counter. She grabbed at him, a mess of dark hair and breakable human bones. So warm and alive he couldn't stop the continuous growl when her fingers tangled in his hair. Breasts heaving against him as she burrowed her face in his neck. Holding him to her like an anchor as he nursed from her palm.</p><p>He wanted to kiss her. And maybe it was mutual, because she was dragging her lips down his neck. Breathing hotly against the only sensitive skin he had left. The spot where Frankie had sunk his teeth years ago. He felt her there like an inoculation, teasing the scars. Scraping her blunt teeth in a way that made him-</p><p>He slammed his hand down on the counter to keep himself upright. Knees buckling before he could lock them in place. <em>Jesus fuck. </em>He hadn't felt- he hadn't felt <em>anything</em>. Not for years. Ever since he'd been bitten it had been one long flat-line until her.</p><p>He hissed an animal sound, something another vampire would have understood.</p><p>Like a call to arms, he wanted her teeth in him.</p><p>But she just looked at him, sloe-eyed, human and unafraid.</p><p>He wanted-</p><p>"Ed," she murmured, so close her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. Pulling away from his neck reluctantly to look at him with hungry eyes. Her scent was female and heady. Winding her hips in a familiar rhythm he'd recognize anywhere." ...Jesus, Ed?"</p><p><em>Fuck.<br/></em><br/>For the first time in a decade, he was grateful he couldn't get hard anymore. Because he would be digging his cock into her hip at this point. Unable to stop himself from grinding into her anyway. The blood and the way she was moving against him was too instinctual an act not to.</p><p>"Ed...please?" she whispered, this time more of a plead – a whine. Like maybe she was just as desperate as he was.</p><p>There were words he should have said. To make sure this was what she wanted. But he couldn't force them. He was beyond that. Instead, he growled and thumbed the button of her jeans. Rubbing her there, through the layers, as she stuttered a moan. Spreading her thighs as much as their closeness would allow. Shattering the last of his reservations with the tilt of her head.</p><p>That was all he had as far as self-control went.</p><p>He gentled under her panties, snapping the elastic to find her wet. The fabric was already sticking to her skin, leeching into the air as his fingers skated down the seam of her slit. So warm he could have fucking died there.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>He barely remembered picking up the knife and cutting another slice across her palm. Worming his hand back into her jeans and finding her clit the same moment he lifted her wrist and drank. Relishing the fresh red and keening sob that issued from her throat. Rocking through the pain and pleasure in a way that would have stuttered his hips if he'd been human.</p><p>She welcomed him like that, head dropping back, throat arched. Warbling a moan into the dusty air as he curled his fingers and knuckled her clit over and over. Finding something else he'd lost in the heady rush of blood and sex as she tried to pull him closer.</p><p>She was tight, <em>so fucking tight</em>, as he eased his index finger into her heat. Pressing her down. Still. Keeping her under his hips like the human in him remembered this part, cock jammed so deep into her thigh it would have hurt if he was hard. Later he'd wonder about what she said. How she'd come back here in the middle of college to hide. And later, much later, he'd feel shame when he realized he'd been thirty-five when she'd been living in a dorm, struggling with first year classes.</p><p>But it wasn't later.</p><p>It was now.</p><p>He purred into the bloody canvas of her hand, dripping red down his chin as her scent took on a needy tint. Telling him she was almost there. He kept her on the edge easily, forcing her to squirm and hike against his fingers as her breaths turned ragged, swallowing a whine as she slapped her hand over her mouth and-</p><p>It took everything he had not to sink his teeth into her neck when she came. Forcing himself to lathe the thinning blood oozing from her palm. Content on a visceral level when her blood sparked with satisfaction, slackening against him. Pulse racing. Breathing hard. Slowly coming down.</p><p>His fingers twitched in her wetness. At loathe to pull away. Aware on some level that when the moment broke he'd be back to his usual shrinking quiet. A penance of feral eyes and the inability to look anyone in the face. Not even her.</p><p>But he wasn't there yet.</p><p>He was still high on it when her lips grazed his cheek, leaning back so she could see him. He let her. And he let himself look back. Drinking her in as the sweat that glinted in the hollow of her throat slowly pearled dry. She hummed a soft sound as she smoothed his hair behind his ears. Bracing her hands on the counter when he pulled his fingers from her heat.</p><p>He didn't kiss her. And she didn't kiss him.</p><p>But they stared at each other long enough to know both were thinking about it.</p><p>He wasn't that strong, not like her.</p><p>Someone who didn't hesitate to act. To live. <em>To fight<br/></em><br/>He admired that.</p><p>He admired everything about her. Ever since that moment in the street. When the pressure of the crossbow bolt punching through his arm had registered before the pain. Looking up to find her keeping the others behind her. Only realizing they were human when the scent of blood reached him. She could have killed him, right there on that road. But she hadn't. She made the decision to trust. Reaching out to renew those last shreds of humanity he was holding onto. Reminding himself that all those regrets weren't just talk. That if he ever had a chance to act, to make things right, he'd do it.</p><p>"Are you okay?" she asked, dark eyes warm.</p><p>He chuffed a disbelieving note. Wavering in the v of her legs like this was something they did all the time.</p><p>"Are you?" he shot back, unable to help it when the corner of his mouth twitched upwards the same moment hers did.</p><p>"Yeah," she nodded, smiling like a sunrise.</p><p>"Then so am I," he returned softly.</p><hr/><p>For once, it was actually true.</p><p>He <em>was</em> okay.</p><hr/><p>That night he didn't sleep.</p><p>He knew goodness wasn't supposed to be transactional.</p><p>But he wanted to thank her, somehow.</p><p>To show her that her trust wasn't misplaced.</p><p>That he could do this.</p><p>That he <em>wanted</em> to do this, and not just for himself.</p><p>But for them.</p><p><em>Her</em>.</p><p>Because now he was hungry for more than just the promise of the sun.</p><hr/><p>The next day, he stopped in the middle of their conversation and stared at the large stainless-steel vats in the middle of the room. Realizing the answer to his problem of how to control a daylight burn had been staring him in the face the entire time.</p><hr/><p>"What are these?"</p><p>"Wine fermentation tanks."</p><p>"Fermentation? That's airtight, right?"</p><p>"Yeah, that's right."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>